


Lotus Feet

by orphan_account



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Foot Fetish, Footbinding, Gen, kiiiiinda foot fetishy, past foot mutilation basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The tradition of foot-binding, originating from the history of China, has always fachinated me.</p><p>My prompt is basically, that you can keep rest of the Fury Road as canon as you like (or change it more, if you like) but make the wives have tiny bound feet. Immortan Joe just wanted to show off his masculine leadership and decided to copy this glorious tradition with his wives or something.<br/>I'd prefer a story with sexual tone, but if you have something else in mind, feel free to do that.<br/>Can be non-conny stuff about Joe and the Wives, can be the ladies having good times together (or tending ad washing each others sore feet), can be liberated Sisters having their feet worshipped by war boys... Anything goes."</p><p>Link to original prompt:http://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/1321.html?thread=484393#cmt484393</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lotus Feet

She walked forward, staggering only slightly, hips swaying unsteadily for balance as she walked on tiny feet across the soft sands of their chambers.

The sands were a blessing. By order of Joe himself the floor was always well covered with a thick cushy layer of it, to ensure that even if one of them fell they would sustain no injuries. 

And the bound feet, the status symbol of five women who could barely walk unassisted much less work, would not come back to haunt him as an embarrassing bad judgement call.

No. He wanted them barefoot and pregnant as it were. Though the "pregnant" bit was still lacking, he could still take pleasure in knowing that they were forever dependent on his help, his benevolence, his every whim and fancy.

Helpless when he pushed one against a wall or lifted her into his arms.

Dipping their feet in the lukewarm pool in the middle of their cushy cage helped wash out the grit that insistently worked its way into their shoes and in-between squashed toes and stubborn folds of skin, as well as provide some much needed relief from the heat and their bindings.

For all of that they were made with the fine embroidered decorations and colourful soft fabrics that had become so rare since the end of the world before, even their ankle high shoes could not stop the desert from invading every part of their lives.

Joe had dedicated a whole shelf, like a monument, to their little shoes. 

Sometimes, in the dead quiet of night when they were sure no one would hear them blaspheme, they would joke amongst each other about his fascination, giggling as one suggested Joe must have a secretly longing to wear them to be devoting so much time and so many resources to them and their accommodations. 

"You would think." one snorted out, "that he likes the damn shoes more than he likes us!" The others laughed with her. All of Joes usual force and intimidation blown out the window at the thought of him prancing about on his own overly large soles, squeezing his toes into their shoes as if they would ever be big enough to cover even half of his broad feet. 

It was one of the most important things they did with all the time they had on their hands. Make fun of him, ridicule the sickly old man who fancied himself their lord husband. 

It made it that much easier to forget how heavy he was when he lay on top of them, how his fingers pressed too hard into the sore arches of their feet and how he always tied the bandages too tight when he put them back on. Miss Giddy would simply have to do it all over again later.

But most importantly it gave them hope that perhaps if they disappeared he would not follow, perhaps it was simply an act when he lifted their feet into his lap and fingered gingerly at the bandages. Perhaps it wasn't them he longed for after all.

Though that belief was hard to hold onto when he pulled a shoe off, setting it aside with barely a glance, and ran his fingers slowly down along the pronounced hump of crookedly healed bones on top of their feet, down and under to flattened toes and gently dipped into too deep arches.

And although the hand under the foot was gentle, even if that was often subject to change as the evening progressed. The hand wrapped around a bony ankle was entirely authoritative, holding fast and all too harshly, a clear warning of what would come should they struggle.

Nightfall was their favorite time of day, Joe never bothered to stay when the sun sank into the horizon. He often claimed he had important duties to attend to, but his wives were all too suspicious that he was merely a tired old man.

During the night they could sit, unlike many others, in relative comfort. No more lessons to attend to, for Miss Giddy was old as well. And no more Joe to take up space on their soft furnishings, no more playing the obedient wife for any of them.

Only the old books of stories from far away and hot, herb scented cloths Miss Giddy was always kind enough to wrap around their aching feet before she went to lay down.


End file.
